Whatever Happens
by blackrosedrippingred
Summary: Draco and Hermione are HeadBoy and HeadGirl during their last year at Hogwarts. Their relationship grows turbulent through the months they are forced to room together. AU


**So, this one is kind of tragic; I had ninety-six pages of absolute copper (this version will be better) and I hadn't posted it to FF because I was going to release it as two oneshots. I also hadn't put it on my hard drive because I didn't have it in the same state. Of course, my computer decides to die and that was that. Lost it all. So, I'm trying again.**

* * *

><p>"Draco," my voice is breathy, strangled. He flips me onto my front, my breasts pressing into his silky sheets. His dominating fingers grip my hips tightly as he positions himself. A deep ache settles in the pit of my stomach, spreading through my nether regions and causing my thighs to quiver in anticipation. This is the best part.<p>

I run my fingers over the soft, plush pillow my cheek rests on before bracing myself with a tight grip. It smells distinctly of him, like winter; sharp, fresh like newly fallen snow, spearmint, with a hint of cinnamon, perhaps a little nutmeg. It's intoxicating. My stomach knots in a tight coil as Draco drives into me again; he is not gentle now. He is rough and controlling. He likes to govern his own release.

He always looks handsomely out of control by this point. I don't have to look behind me to know that his teeth are gritted, his eyes are half-lidded, glazed over with lust, his brows furrowed. His normally slick hair falls in front of his eyes, sticks to his forehead with sweat.

Draco runs a hand up my backside, following the curve of my spine. His fingers spread over the nape of my neck then run themselves through my hair where he grabs a fistful. He pulls, raising my head while my back arches as his pace quickens.

I am a sick person.

That little fact is driven home with every thrust of Draco's hips against mine. He pulls out only a couple inches then slams in once more, hard. I am a whimpering, trembling mess. He pulls out slightly again. This time he stills. Desperately, I try to move my hips, try to move onto him again.

"Please, Draco, please! Draco, please I'm so close!" I try to twist my head around to view him. I can see his blatant smirk. He leans over me, his chest, sweaty and hot, presses against my back. His teeth tug on my ear lobe.

"I love hearing you beg, Hermione. You're always so prim and proper," he kisses me fervently, "It's a pleasure seeing you come undone like this."

"No," I preen, biting my lip, panting softly, "The pleasure is all mine."

Draco slams into me and I give a cry of ardent surprise.

"Smartass," he hisses before leaning back and resuming his powerful thrusts. I am at his whim, bucking my hips, screaming as I come for the second time tonight. He releases my hair and I fall into the embrace of his dark sheets, limbs shaking, blinded by white heat, completely and utterly pliant as he seeks his own completion.

I am a sick person and I love it.

Nobody knows. I could go on about the whole dichotomy of good and evil, present in all of us, what we should do versus what we want to do, and how the line is so thin, often times unreadable, but then I would just be perpetuating the already too cliché scenario I'm in. But I will admit that it tends to complicate my life more often than not. And I've not been able to tell anybody because of that. The nature of our "relationship" is taboo enough without adding Draco Malfoy to the equation. I can only imagine what Harry and Ron would say if they ever found out. Me, the goody-two-shoes, fucking - because that's what it is, fucking - the resident bad boy and all around pompous ass. Friends with benefits, with the exclusion of the 'friends,' title.

Draco and I fall somewhere between forced acquaintances and proud enemies. Before we became HeadBoy and Girl we'd never had reason to interact outside of class, or even in class for that matter. We actually ignored each other as best as possible the first month we lived together. Harry and Ron always ask me what it's like rooming with the infamous Slytherin; they worry about me. At first I found it endearing, and I had more than enough pet peeves to bitch about to them. Now, guilt floods me every time they ask, because I can only lie about our interactions.

I lie to everyone.

Mum doesn't know, Ginny doesn't know, my best friends do not know, and I am quite content to keep it that way.


End file.
